No such time like the present
by KatanaSabaku
Summary: Raewyn Evans is bound to the demons of her past. Carson Phillips is desperately chasing his own future. When the two of them are given a chance to connect, can they find a way to teach other that the present day was the most important of all?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** Hey guys, it's my first time writing something non-fictional, so please be gentle. I watched Struck by Lightning and it was one of the most inspiring movies that I ever saw. The plot was amazing. I wish there were more movies like that which revolves in the reality of life and life in high school.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own anything except for the plot and my original character.

Please enjoy and review! :D

* * *

The morning I had woken up on was, as usual, calm and bleary, my room still dim. Slivers of sunlight peeked through the green curtains and brightened the start of my day just a little bit. I got out of bed and got ready for school, just like any other normal day. I'm Raewyn Evans, seventeen years old, a senior in high school and an only daughter to a widowed man.

In my seventeen years of existence here in the humble town of Clover, there's three things that I've learned to believe in. One is normality. Of all the blessings that have been given to me, I'd like to think that I'm grateful for normality the most. Normality meant peace and order and routine. It meant going to school ten hours a day, five times a week; it meant spending Saturday evenings at some junior's house that I'm tutoring and Sundays staying inside the house with my father the whole day. See? I like routines, too.

The second thing I believe in is the power of hard work. Hard work equates to a successful future. Hence, the straight A's, the determination and the patience that I show in my stressful extracurricular activities after school. My third belief sounds a little cliché, especially given my first two and I've yet to experience it first-hand. Love. Yeah, I believe in love. I believe that two people, any two people, could meet someday and just fall in love. There's no need for reasons, no need for the phrase 'I love him/her because of this and that'. It would be simple and clear and just plain love for each other. It's what my late mother taught me.

Before my mom died and left me and my dad alone, I saw how my parents would interact everyday. My mom would wake up exactly ten minutes before Dad does and she'd go downstairs to fix breakfast. While the coffee was brewing, she'd wake me and Dad up with a kiss; me on the forehead and Dad with a loving peck on the lips.

Dad would smile at her and kiss her again before getting ready for work and head downstairs to gobble down his toast and eggs. After breakfast, he'd usher me to the car with a grin and throw Mom a teasing wink, saying goodbye by kissing her yet again and then proceeding to drive me to school and then himself to work.

It was always, always like that. Our mornings were made of the three things I believe in. The hard work of Mom and Dad, the evident love between them and of course, the normality of everything. Oh, and speaking of normality, I needed to get going for school. It's 5:45 already and despite Clover High being only a five-minute drive away, I like arriving there ten minutes early.

Marching downstairs and heading for the kitchen table to write Dad a short 'Good morning!' greeting with a smiley face at the end on a piece of Post-it, I placed it beside his coffee and his plate of eggs, jogging afterwards to the front door. As usual, I took out my keys from my left jeans pocket and threw my bag on the passenger's seat. The drive to school was fast and quiet.

* * *

The hallways made my head ache again, the one thing I'd rather not have in my every day routine. It was crowded and stifling, people shoving people away, locker doors banging noisily and mouths chattering non-stop. The hallways were like the epitome of utter chaos, a miniature warzone of sorts.

And it smelled so bad; imagine fifty different colognes and perfumes spraying into the air at the same time, then add in the scent of sweat and body odor. Yes, it was _that_ horrible. I held my breath for as long as I could as I desperately dodged and pushed past other students. I had Algebra 2 as homeroom and we were supposed to have a quiz today. I can't afford to lose my brain cells to the stench.

"Cattle! Cattle, cattle! Slow cattle. Fat cattle."

The sharp, snarky voice echoed amidst the noise of the student body and it caught my attention. I turned my head, stopping just for a minute to look at the person biting out the insults. A small smile reached my face once I saw who it was that was pushing people aside without a care: Carson Phillips, possibly the only person in Clover High that still made sense.

I know what they say about him: Loser, perfectionist, sarcastic, overachiever, weird. But honestly, I couldn't care less. I still think he's perfectly sane, despite all the people who hated him.

We were classmates back then in middle school (Clover is a really, really small town) but somehow we never talked to each other. I knew him, in a way. He was ambitious, a good writer, he knew what he wanted and he worked hard to get it. He's smart too, and determined. For those qualities, I respect him. Sure he was sarcastic and a tad bit cynical. So what? We were teenagers and all of us had those sides. The only difference was that he had the guts to actually show that side of himself to the rest of the world.

"Shoo! Get the hell out of my way. Cattle, cattle!"

I saw him approaching in my direction and immediately, I rushed off. I may think he's alright, but I'm definitely not okay with getting shoved off to the side by him. When I found myself in a safe position to stand still—in the small gap in between lockers, if you're curious—I scanned the crowd again and saw him already ahead of me. I sighed a little sadly. Carson was too headstrong, too busy to even stop and take a minute to relax. Ah well, I guess he was just that eager to get away from this town. He probably doesn't even remember me anymore. Middle school seemed so far away from where we were now…

* * *

The quiz we had was followed shortly by another discussion about a new lesson. Mr. Coughs-a-lot (don't worry, it's a nickname, not his real name), our Math teacher, coughed into his hand (get the point of the nickname now?) before launching into an introduction about imaginary numbers. He asked us to turn our books to a designated page number and jotted down an equation on the board. The room was silent as we copied the equation in our notebooks, my fingers keeping a firm grip on my pen as I wrote the numbers in my clean, round handwriting.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa."

For the second time that day, I found myself craning my neck to look back and see who it was. The only difference was, this time I wasn't the only one who was intrigued. The whole class turned its attention to Carson who sat on the fourth chair at the back, his face tainted with obvious disbelief and irritation. "What's the _i_?" He asked the teacher with his eyebrows furrowed and his hands open in a confused gesture.

"The _i _signifies an imaginary number." Came the brief explanation and it came with a cough. I bit my lower lip down to prevent the laughter from bubbling up. I couldn't help it. Don't get me wrong, he was a nice guy and I wasn't a bad student. It's just that, why did he have to cough every single time?

Carson, though, didn't look amused. He was still disapproving of the whole turn of events.

"There are imaginary numbers now?" He asked rhetorically, looking a lot angrier now. "Are there unicorns the next lesson?" He snapped again and the teacher frowned. As if on cue, half of the class rolled their eyes and muttered comments under their breaths. The other half decided to ignore him. The minority—and by that, I mean, me—raised both eyebrows in genuine surprise. I didn't know he disliked Math. Maybe it was the lesson. Or maybe it was the teacher?

"Mr. Phillips, please. Refrain from making unnecessary remarks during class." Our teacher scolded in a nasal tone, sniffing in annoyance. "Let's go back to our topic." Carson threw him a glare and snorted begrudgingly and it was the end of the argument. The class went back into silence and Mr. Coughs-a-lot continued to write down equations for us to copy. After a few more minutes of writing and explaining and coughing (seriously), our teacher glanced back at the clock that hung on the wall at the back and checked his own wrist watch, just to make sure.

"Alright. Class dismissed."

As soon as he had said that, the classroom cleared out faster than someone could say 'Imaginary numbers'. I guess it was obvious what subject students hated the most. It was a shame they did; Math wasn't complicated, it was just…um, challenging, at times. Closing my notebook and capping my pen, I unzipped my bag and stuffed in my things carefully. Closing it, I got up and walked to the door, only to be stopped by Mr. Coughs-a-lot on the way.

"Ms. Evans, a word with you."

Frowning, I turned back and walked toward his desk in confusion. "Sir?" I voiced out from his side, watching him as he cleared up the scattered papers at his table and wondering what he could possibly want from me. I'm sure it wasn't detention…was it? As far as I could recall, I'd done nothing wrong. I listened and kept quiet, I did my homework. I'm pretty sure I aced the quiz earlier as well. So what was the problem?

The sound of his throat clearing cut me off from my thoughts. I blinked rapidly and focused at his face, hesitantly returning the polite smile he offered me. "Please, sit down." He gestured at the chair on the front row with his hand. Swallowing back down my nervousness, I trudged towards the chair and sat, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. I still didn't have the slightest clue where this conversation was heading. Sighing inwardly, I decided to be straightforward about it. "So!" I prompted with forced cheerfulness, smiling awkwardly when my teacher chuckled.

"Do you still tutor, Evans?"

Oh.

_Oh_….

I relaxed immediately once I realized what he was asking. "Yes." I answered with a nod, smiling and this time, meaning it. "I still do, Mr. Grace." I said. I didn't join any of the clubs in Clover High when I first started off as a freshman here and I never did. None of the clubs felt right for me.

The cheerleading club was too intimidating, Drama club was too extravagant and dramatic, Yearbook club was boring, the Celibacy club took too much time, and I don't sing or play musical instruments, so no way I'm joining Clover High Choir. The Writer's Club…Well, let's just say writing is a sore topic for me.

It's not that I'm bad at writing; it's actually a passion of mine. Nothing ever makes me feel so good than when I'm with a pen and a piece of blank paper, just writing my heart out and letting the ideas flow. But, like I said, I just don't do it anymore. Incidents happen and things change. I'd rather not reminisce again. So instead, I got stuck with part-time tutoring as my extracurricular, taking advantage of my high grades. I'm particularly content with my situation.

"That's good." Mr. Grace said cautiously, coughing into his hand (gee, what a surprise!) and looking down at his lap for a quick moment before glancing up at me. "Could I, perhaps," he began again, picking up a pen and fiddling with it, "ask you to tutor one of your own classmates?"

"Sure." I replied without a second thought, grinning and reaching for my bag. "I'll just check my schedule so I can work it out. Is it an after-class session or could we do it on weekends? 'Cause, you see, I'm kind of busy during—"

"Great!" Looking utterly relieved, Mr. Grace interrupted me and smiled in a way that had me questioning my decision to agree with it. He seemed so…pleased with himself. That can't be good. "You can start right away! As for the schedule, you'll have to meet your classmate to work it out between yourselves, alright? Tell you what", he coughed shortly and grinned once more, and I'll admit, it was getting creepier by the second, "you teach this guy and if he gets a score of above 75 in our next exam, I'll give you an additional grade for it. Sound good?"

"Um…"

He coughed. "Well?"

"O-Okay." I answered uncertainly, frowning. I bit my lip and reached for my bag, standing up with it instead of opening it and looking for my schedule. It was Tuesday today and I'd be meeting him tomorrow after class, if he's available. That seemed fair enough. Perhaps I could go meet that person now, just to work out our schedules properly and settle the awkwardness that may arise between us.

"Who am I supposed to tutor again?" I asked, already dreading the answer. There came that smile again. He said it was a guy. There were a lot of guys who were having trouble in Algebra 2.

Oh god, what if it was George, the guy with the crazy piercings all over his face?

What if it was Walter, that jerk who threw paper airplanes during Physics class?

Or, or Justin Walker, the quarterback?

Or Emilio, El Salvadoran exchange student? Shit, I can't speak Spanish!

"Congratulations," Mr. Coughs-a-lot drawled out with that stupid, stupid grin of his and propped both his elbows onto the desk, "you'll be tutoring Carson Phillips."

* * *

"Hey, Raewyn, over here!"

At the sound of my name being called, I searched the crowd present in the cafeteria and found Remy waving her hand in the air. A grin appeared in my face at the sight of the enthusiastic blonde girl. Remy Baker, vice-president of the Student Council, editor of the school's yearbook, is my friend.

Yes, believe it or not, I'm friends with her. I have friends too; I'm not some kind of loner. Remy's an interesting girl. She's sensible and funny and she talks a lot. She's a little bit self-righteous at times, but that's alright with me. She tolerates my boringness and lack of fun in return.

"Hi, Remy."

I sat on the chair beside hers and placed my tray on the table and bag on the free seat next to me. Remy smiled widely, leaned in and began to chatter about her day before I could even pick up the sandwich that I bought.

"Guess what's coming up!" She squealed out after the daily report of how her morning went. I bit into my sandwich and chewed thoughtfully, looking straight into her expectant stare.

"Um…" I started, swallowing, "I don't know."

She rolled her eyes at me and pulled away, slumping into her chair. "Homecoming, Wyn!" She said and glared at me. I could only shrug in reply. "Seriously, do you even call yourself a student? Aren't you just a tiny bit excited about this?"

"No."

She pouted. "But why not? Homecoming's fun! Live a little!"

I sighed loudly, dropping my sandwich back to the tray in favor of my bottled water. "Look, as much fun as Homecoming could get, I can't find myself caring. I still won't go." I told her, ignoring the look of disbelief on her face. "I'm busy. I have students to tutor and after that, someone needs to fix dinner at the house." Remy scowled at me, crossing her arms.

"You sound like a stressed out housewife." She spat, clearly upset about what I just told her.

"Yeah, well…" I gave her a lopsided smile. "I'll make it up to you some other time."

"You always say that."

"Fine." Pausing to take a mouthful of water, I gulped it down and leaned in. "I won't be coming to Homecoming but", I said, smiling at the way she looked up hopefully, "I'll make sure to join you guys in this year's Sadie Hawkins Dance. 'Kay?" She let herself grin brightly again. "Okay. You promise?"

"I promise."

"Okay!" She clapped excitedly, earning us a few looks from other tables. I fought back a smile of my own. She was always easy to please. I heard her sigh in content and opened a notebook that was placed on her right. Remy kept a lot of notebooks in her bag, so many that I found myself giving up counting them.

She said she needed them for planning the yearbook themes and for taking notes during Student council meetings but we both knew she bought them because she found the covers cute. "So", she said, cheerful tone back in place, "how's your day so far? Anything new? Anything…interesting?"

By interesting, I think she meant 'anything non-academic related'. I took in a deep breath and shrugged simply. "Mr. Grace asked me for a favor this morning." I said, keeping my voice light. She wouldn't be pleased with this piece of information, no matter how interesting it may seem.

"Mr. Grace? The Math teacher who coughs a lot?"

I snickered under my breath and nodded. "Yeah. That one. He asked me if I could tutor this guy." One of her thin eyebrows rose up and she looked positively evil. Her lips curled up into a devious smile, one which I knew would fade away as soon as I tell her who it was.

"This guy? Well?" She pressed on giddily. "Who is it?"

"It's…a classmate."

"What's his name?"

"It's a secret."

"But why?"

"I'd rather not tell you."

"Come on! I won't judge!" She insisted, desperate to know. Her eyes widened just then. "Is he cute? I bet he is, or else you wouldn't hesitate telling me. Is he popular?" She said in a stage-whisper, giggling in excitement. Nervously, I smiled, thinking back. Well, I _do_ find him cute, handsome even, with the air of seriousness around him. And he _is_ popular…in a twisted, infamous sort of way.

"Um…yeah, I guess?" I supplied hesitantly and she frowned at the obvious way I looked lost. Rolling her eyes, she dragged her chair closer to mine, invading my personal space. I tried not to flinch at the noise the chair made as its legs scratched against the tiles. "Raewyn, come on." Remy urged again, looking up from underneath her eyelashes and giving me her best puppy stare yet. "We're friends. You can trust me with this. Please?"

"Fine." I sighed, turning my head away to look down at the floor. I took in a breath and counted to three. "It's Carson Phillips."

"_WHAT_?!"

Our neighboring tables shushed her and both of us shrank back in our seats, her biting her lip to prevent herself from screaming again and me groaning and hiding my face behind my hands.

This was a disaster.

I shouldn't have told her. Remy hated Carson more than she hated ugly pictures in her yearbook. They clashed like oil and water and they could never get along. Perhaps one reason is that they were so much alike. Both were driven, both had big dreams for the future and they had no qualms whatsoever on getting their hands dirty. The only visible difference I see is that Carson is a tall guy and Remy is half his height and is a girl.

"Carson _freaking_ Phillips?" I heard Remy hiss out angrily after everyone lost interest in us and went back to minding their businesses. "Of all the—Of all the people in this freaking school, you have to tutor that arrogant asshole?" She ranted, throwing her hands up and threatening to tear out her hair.

Glancing up, I narrowed my eyes and scowled. "You said you wouldn't judge." I snapped, feeling hurt that she reacted so badly.

It's not like I had a choice on who I tutored. She knew that.

"I know what I said." Remy grumbled, pouting. "But I—" She stopped in mid-sentence, eyes widening again. I rolled my eyes and let out a heavy sigh.

"Now what?" I whined, already tired of her complaints.

I think I've heard every possible insult she could throw at Carson. It was becoming exhausting. She looked at me, expression half accusing and half horrified as she said, "You said he was cute." She said coldly, eyes narrowing in suspicion.

I paled and fidgeted in my seat. "No. You said he was cute." I corrected. "I merely agreed." Her mouth dropped open in shock and I resisted the urge to grab my things and run for it.

To hell with saving this friendship; this was the most awkward and unwelcome conversation I ever had.

"You think he's cute!" Remy hissed in accusation, glaring at me.

"No, I—"

"You do!"

"Fine!" I relented, huffing out indignantly. "Yes, I do. So what? What does it matter if I find him cute?" Her eyes widened for the third time around and I mentally wondered if it was physically possible that eyeballs would pop out of their sockets. Hers seemed to be in the borderline of jumping out.

"Omygod." She whispered in realization, her hands gripping the edge of the table. I stared her down, unimpressed. I could feel a head ache coming around and it was the last thing I needed. I was still supposed to meet Carson after class. Damn it.

"Oh my god." She said clearer this time, a smile breaking out of her face. I gave her a skeptical glance. Was she going insane? She squealed so suddenly that I winced for real and scooted away from her.

"Oh. My. God." Remy laughed out, chuckling and giving me a look that said 'I just found out something you don't know'.

"I know what this is. You have a crush on Carson Phillips." She blurted out and I froze in my seat.

What?

W-Wait, what?

"What?" I snapped out incredulously, unable to process how things escalated to this. "How did you get to that conclusion?" I asked her, looking scarred for life. Remy merely grinned at my reaction. "It's true. See? You're blushing."

"I'm blushing because I'm appalled." I shot back, feeling queasy. So I found him cute. So I respected him. So what? It doesn't mean I have a crush on him! I sighed, forcing myself to get back the control I had. I shook my head and looked at Remy again, rolling my eyes at the way she was still giggling uncontrollably. "Okay, you had your fun. Can we stop now? This is getting ridiculous."

"Ridiculous but true."

I scowled. "I don't have a crush on him."

"You do." She said, sounding so sure of herself. "And because I'm such a great friend, I'm willing to push aside my hate for him in order for your love to bloom."

"Your words make me sick."

"Acceptance is the first stage to love, Raewyn."

"I do not have a crush on Carson, Remy." I told her, emphasizing everything word for word. She gasped, putting a hand on her chest and looking offended. I wondered what I did wrong this time around. "You did not just use my name and _his_ name in the same sentence!"

Oh. That.

I cleared my throat, sparing her a tentative gaze. "I'm sorry?" I tried, no longer putting effort in apologizing. This was tiresome. Remember how I said she was sensible? I take it back. Why am I friends with her again? I looked up at the wall clock of the cafeteria and sighed, grabbing my bag and standing up.

"Look, Remy, I gotta go. I'm going to be late for Chemistry."

"Oh, sure." She said, blinking and turning to check the time as well. She stood up with me and piled her notebooks on top of each other before lifting them up and shoving them inside her shoulder bag. "I need to get going too. I have English."

I nodded once, pleased that she finally dropped the topic. "So, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?" She asked. "Aren't you available after class?"

"I have to meet Carson to work on our schedule."

Remy grinned again and I began walking away. "Right." She said, snickering. "Have fun with your date, Raewyn!"

I have never felt more embarrassed in my entire life. Where was the normality in this day?


	2. Chapter 2

It was hard to think straight with this migraine pounding in my head. I'd thought correctly when I noticed the telltale signs of a headache coming my way: the swimming vision, burning heat radiating off my face and clammy hands. It must've been from me over-thinking again.

I had just gone out of my History classroom and my nerves were on fire. Our professor dismissed us roughly fifteen minutes ago, yet I stayed behind, deliberately taking my time in shoving my notebooks inside my bag. I even took it upon myself to tidy up the room, arranging the chairs into organized rows and wiping the dry erase board clean so that my pounding head could relax. I had scanned the room thoroughly, looking for something else to fix, only to find that there was none left. Dammit.

Sighing and rolling back my tense shoulders, I adjusted the strap of my body bag and began walking for the journalism classroom. If I recalled correctly, Carson always stayed there after classes to work on the latest edition of Clover High Chronicle, the school's newspaper, despite the fact that the Writer's Club only held meetings during Wednesdays.

I knew that because I saw him that one time from when I got home late after a tutoring session. It's not like I was intentionally stalking him. It was just that one time…and another time after that. But I swear, both times were coincidental! Poor guy though, he must be working himself hard. Maybe it would be better if I didn't interrupt him today…

I groaned out loud and mentally slapped myself. I could feel my headache worsening but I can't make excuses for every time that I had to meet him. It'll get me nowhere. Brushing back the strands of hair that fell on the sides of my face, I took a left and continued my sluggish, reluctant pace.

I didn't even know why I was so worked up about this. It was just Carson Phillips—for goodness' sakes, not some celebrity—that I needed to tutor. Remy might've thought that I harbored a crush on him but I didn't. And I really don't like him.

I don't, I don't, I don't.

_Well, I can't_, a bitter voice inside my head that I hadn't known existed added stubbornly, _even if he's as brilliant as I think he is, he's too out-there, too keen on getting out of this town. I'm staying here; and I'm staying forever. The two of us have two very different, very opposite goals in life. Besides, he probably doesn't even know I exist anyway…_

Shaking my head resolutely with my lips pursed, I blinked into focus and nearly collided with a closed door. I stumbled back safely just in time. Pasted on the surface of the door was a washed-out paper held up by tape and it read in big, black letters: Journalism Classroom. Behind the closed door, I could hear the muffled noise of an open computer and the sound of a ceiling fan working.

Taking in a shaky breath, I pushed aside my hesitance and knocked three times, the noise echoing loudly in the empty hallways. I waited for a few seconds, expecting to hear some scrambling inside the room and for the door to open. It didn't and I frowned.

Did I make a mistake? Had he gone home and unknowingly left me knocking on an empty classroom after all?

Swallowing and frowning tighter, I knocked thrice for the second time around. Again, there was no response and I felt my hope die down. Perhaps, he had already gone home. Discouraged, I went in for the last resort, grabbing the door knob firmly. If the door was indeed locked, then yes, I'm going home too. I can just meet him tomorrow before or after the Writer's Club meeting. I turned the knob tentatively and to my surprise, it clicked open. The humming of the open computer sounded much clearer from the tiny opening.

Wait, had he been ignoring me?

Blinking and scowling at the thought, I yanked open the door further with a little more force than I intended, stopping it with my hand just in time before it banged with the wall outside. My irritation went away at the sight that welcomed me. In front of the noisy computer sat Carson Phillips on his chair, his shoulders slumped down and his head buried down on his crossed arms. The slight rise and fall of his upper back confirmed that he was sleeping.

Immediately, I felt guilty for being upset. He probably would've made some sort of effort to at least ask who it was—instead of ignoring the knocking like I had thought—if he was awake. Carson may come off as a snarky person but he was probably polite enough to do that. Staring at him for a few more seconds, uncertainty took its place in me.

What should I do now?

Should I wake him up and introduce myself? Or was that rude?

Should I leave him alone since he was sleeping? I mean, he looked exhausted and besides, I can meet him tomorrow…

Or was leaving him there rude, too?

He might have something planned for the evening and it would be too bad if he was late for it.

"This is so stupid…" I sighed tiredly and ran a hand through my hair. Placing a closed fist on my hip, I stared at him intently and made up my mind. Fine, I'd wake him. If he became upset later on with the decision I made, then so be it. I stalked forward, making sure my footsteps were light and quiet, and stopped beside him. "Carson." I said and paused, his name sounding weird coming out from my mouth. Wetting my lips slightly, I reached out for his shoulder, feeling the firm muscles bulging underneath his blue shirt. Damn it, this was not the time for inappropriate thoughts!

Flushing red in frustration and embarrassment, I gripped him harder and shook his shoulder. I cleared my throat and called out. "Hey, wake up. Carson, wake up." He began to stir from the all shaking I did and groaned, his brown head lifting up slowly to look at me. I took away my hand and allowed him to gather his foggy thoughts. Frowning, he looked at me through his narrowed gaze and I noticed just then that his eyes were a weird combination of grey, blue and green. "What?" He asked, his voice sounding slightly rough from sleep.

"You fell asleep." I pointed out lamely, unable to think of anything else to say. Thankfully, he ignored my unintelligent reply and turned to the bright computer screen. His eyes widened once he glanced at the taskbar. "Shit!" He swore loudly and I jerked away, startled at his reaction. What just happened? "I must've lost track of time. Stupid article." He muttered harshly and stood up, ignoring my presence in the room.

He gathered his things and collected the papers scattered messily on his desk, mumbling things under his breath, most of which I missed. I only caught a few words like 'Grandma' and 'late' and 'fucking uncooperative members'. Really, the only thing I could do was gape at him while he cleaned up like an angry hurricane.

"Hey?"

I snapped up at the sudden question. How long was I staring at space? Based from the curious look Carson gave me, I'd say long enough to make me look like an idiot. I shifted from where I stood awkwardly and nodded at him. "Hey." I said back and paused to think of my next words. He was staring at me like he was expecting something and I couldn't help but feel pressured.

"I'm—W-Well, Mr. Grace, he…I'm s-supposed to—"

"Whoa, hey, calm down." Carson cut me off and held up both hands before him, obviously taken aback by my broken tirade. Great, five minutes after we met and I was already scaring him with my stupid stuttering. He probably thought I was an incompetent fool. What was wrong with me? "Um", Carson began tentatively, looking as if he didn't know what to make of me. That's alright; I didn't know what to make of myself either. "Sorry about that…I probably scared you with all the swearing I did."

What? I blinked rapidly at his casual apology. He thought I got scared of him?

"No, it's okay." I said when I regained my voice back. "I'm…" Taking in a deep breath to support my courage, I let it out part by part and continued, "Well, I heard you were having trouble in Algebra 2?" I offered helpfully, relaxing once I realized that we were falling into the conversation I wanted all along: a normal one that meant business. "Mr. Grace asked me to tutor you."

He glanced quickly at the door then back at me. He looked like he couldn't wait to get out of the room and I took no offense in that. Even I wanted to bolt out of this room as soon as I can. Carson nodded once, shifting from one foot to another. "Yeah, I kind of figured that out."

I nodded too and we fell into a tense silence. Carson looked around the room, impatiently drumming his fingers against the strap of his messenger bag. I gripped mine in a tight hold, looking down on the ground, just to avoid his gaze. Finally, Carson snapped.

"Look", he sighed out awkwardly, "I gotta go. I'm tired and kind of late for something…"

I glanced up, relieved that he took the initiative to say goodbye.

"Yeah, okay." I agreed, trying hard to not sound as eager as I really was. "We can talk tomorrow." At my reply, he all but jogged happily to the open doorway and ran out. I watched the empty hallways for a moment and sighed, slumping down and sitting myself on the edge of the computer desk. What a messy day.

I sat in peaceful silence for a few minutes, relishing in my calm surroundings and the comforting hum of the computer. Oh, Carson forgot to turn it off. Resisting the urge to sigh again, I went around the desk and bent down to reach for the mouse, not bothering to sit down properly. I closed all the open tabs in the internet browser and clicked the shut down button. I stared at the screen as it went from bright to pitch black in a matter of seconds.

"Hey."

I looked up at the door, surprised to see Carson peeking from behind one of the doorframes. That's funny, I didn't hear him come back again. I straightened up unconsciously. "Yeah?"

"Raewyn Evans…right?"

I tried to contain my shock this time but I obviously failed, if his almost smug expression said anything. Well, it seems that I was proven wrong once more. Apparently, he did know that I existed. I cleared my throat.

"Yeah." I told him with a quick nod. "Just call me Raewyn."

"Okay." Looking down on the floor, his earlier expression fell into a thoughtful frown. I waited expectantly. Carson looked up at me again, biting his lip with obvious discomfort. "By the way, thanks." He said the word 'thanks' uneasily, almost as if he wasn't used to thanking people. I wonder how often people did him favors, whether willingly or not.

"For what?"

"For waking me up."

"Oh."

He released a noncommittal grunt. "Yeah…" With another bob of his head and a forced crooked smile on his face, he raised his hand to give me a tentative wave.

"Bye."

I managed a weak smile of my own and waved clumsily. "Bye, Carson."

He was out of sight before I could even finish saying his name.

* * *

The sound of the door opening and the 'Wyn, I'm home!' greeting that came after it had never felt so comforting to hear before. I stood up from where I sat on the dining table with a wide smile and walked towards the tall man in the coat and tie to give him a hug. "Hey, Dad." I said after pulling back from the hug and caught a smile identical to the one I had on his tired face. He rarely looked at ease anymore.

After Mom died, my dad had to quit his old job in the city and look for one here so he could come home every night. He settled here in Clover as an accountant and although I know next to nothing about being one, I could tell that he wasn't particularly happy with his new career.

I once asked him about it but he only shrugged and told me the pay was good and it was impractical for him to look for another job; it was especially risky since I was in high school and I needed money for projects every now and then. I couldn't even begin to express how grateful I was for the obvious sacrifice.

"Hungry?" I asked him immediately and was answered with an exaggerated groan. I muffled a laugh as he pretended to sway on his feet and clutched his stomach dramatically. "You have no idea." He said and grinned when I rolled my eyes. Trust my father to be an overgrown whiny child.

"Come on then." I told him, beckoning him to the table. He pulled out a chair and sat and I did the same with the chair opposite to his. "It's mashed potatoes with peas and carrots and fried chicken." I said when he asked what was on the table.

"Yum."

Silence took over as we began to eat, the occasional collision of spoons and forks against the plate the only things disrupting the otherwise calm quietness. "So…" Dad began, in the process of chewing a mouthful of food. He swallowed and picked up his broken statement. "How's school?" He asked expectantly with an encouraging smile, his tone sincere.

I knew that he was truly interested in whatever I had to say, unlike other parents who asked questions for the sake of making small talk but not really listening. I was glad that we were able to maintain our closeness despite the rather sad incidents that took place in between times.

I wasn't, however, pleased with the question he presented. I'd hoped that school wouldn't be brought up during dinner, but then again, it wasn't as if I had work to discuss with him.

"School's okay." I kept my answer short and safe. "We had a quiz on Algebra 2 today. I'm pretty sure I aced it."

He smiled proudly at me. "I'm sure you did." He supported wholeheartedly, not even batting a doubtful eyelash. "Even back then when your mother was still alive, we never had any problems with you in school. Your elementary teachers even told us that you were a good kid. Your mom was so proud of you, she couldn't help but tell every one of our neighbors that she had the perfect daughter." A nostalgic chuckle followed his statement. "I think she annoyed them at one point."

_I'm far from perfect._

I bit my tongue to prevent myself from saying the words. I shrugged at his praise and smiled slightly, trying not to make a big deal at the inward pain I felt when he mentioned Mom. It's been five years; It wasn't supposed to hurt as much as it did just now.

"Well, I try to be." I told him and scooped a spoonful of mashed potatoes, taking it in, chewing and swallowing before changing the topic. "How's work?"

His cheerful expression fell apart. "Terribly boring." He sighed and I chuckled sympathetically, reaching out and giving his hand a pat. "It was all numbers and papers and more numbers that I had to stare at the whole time. It's pure torture." I didn't know whether he was messing with me or if he really hated his work that much.

"During our lunch break, I don't even try to interact with my co-workers anymore." Dad admitted shamefully and stabbed a piece of his chicken with his fork. "They bore me to death. I can't stand them, Wyn."

"I'm sorry to hear that." I remarked sincerely, giving him a weak smile.

"Don't be." He reassured coolly and reached for his glass, gulping down the water. "Just promise me something." He said after he brought his glass back down, a serious look present in his eye. I leaned forward instinctively. "What's that?" I asked, intending to keep whatever promise he wanted me to make. If he was willing to sacrifice his happiness in exchange for my future, then I'm just as willing to amends for his comfort.

"Promise me you'll choose a career you love doing, and not just for practicality."

My gaze softened and guilt hit my conscience hard. Dad always knew what to tell me, even if most of the time, I hated it when he was right. It was as if he could already tell what I was planning on doing in the near future.

"Dad…" I began, sighing and leaning against my seat. "You can't say that. Practicality is an essential—"

"No." He held up a hand, smiling despite the glint of determination in his eyes. "You leave the practicality to me. That's my thing." He joked, chuckling.

"You, on the other hand, have big dreams for the future. I want you to pursue those." Dad told me as he finished the last of his meal. "Remember how you told me you wanted to be a famous writer? And how you wanted to live in New York? You were always so excited whenever you talked about that. You made so many stories already. I remember one; it was about that…"

My heart broke a little at his reminiscing and I knew I'd break his heart too, when I tell him what I had in mind right now. "Dad." I said softly, interrupting his enthusiastic storytelling. He stopped and glanced at me, quirking up an eyebrow. I sighed again and ran a hand through my hair.

"As much as I appreciate the support…" I told him, smiling sadly and letting him think about my next words, "I've changed my mind about writing." He didn't look shocked and that surprised me. In fact, he merely gave me an unimpressed look and asked, "Why?"

I hesitated in my next answer. "I want to be a teacher."

"A teacher?"

"Yeah, a teacher, here in Clover."

"Just like Irene?"

He let Mom's name float in the air between us, increasing the tension. "Yeah." I nodded stiffly and forced a grin. "Just like Mom." Dad held my gaze for a short moment and I stared back at him, stubbornly jutting out my chin. I had to be convincing for both of us, or he'd never stop bothering me about this. Finally, Dad looked down on his empty plate and he sighed heavily. I relaxed my tense shoulders. "Raewyn…" he started, but I stood up, cutting him off before he could begin his speech and make me doubt my decision.

"No, Dad." I said firmly, grabbing my plate up and reaching to his direction to grab his as well. I walked towards the sink. "I want this. I'm happy with this decision." I told him, secretly relieved that my back was what faced him; I don't think I could bear seeing the disappointment in his face.

"It's not what you think. I've had time to consider this. Besides", I dropped the dirty plates on the sink, unflinching even when they resonated a loud clank, "I lost interest in writing. I wasn't as good as I thought I was. People change over the years. Dreams change, too, Dad."

"I know that." I felt a warm hand on my shoulder and I sagged down, unconscious of the stiffness I carried my shoulders with. I turned around slowly and met his rueful smile. "I'll do the dishes tonight. You go ahead and rest."

I eyed him skeptically. "You sure?"

"Of course I am." He answered and pushed me aside gently, taking over. I stumbled back and stared at his tall figure, pursing my lips. I didn't know what to make of the situation between us, but it was obvious that he dropped the topic for now. After waiting and receiving no further response, I sighed and shook my head, heading for the stairs.

"Night, Dad." I called out.

"Good night. Oh, and Raewyn?"

Halting in my tracks, I took in a deep breath and let it out, sighing, "Yeah, Dad?"

"Think about it, okay?"

I couldn't think of a good-enough response for that, so I settled for nodding, even though he couldn't see me.

"Night, Dad." I said again and climbed the stairs two steps at a times, not looking back.

* * *

"We're having a meeting about it this afternoon."

A loud thump as a stack of notebooks hit the cafeteria table made me look up and I saw Remy grinning at me. Reluctantly, I took my mouth off the straw of my juice box. "About what?" I asked her, watching as she sat down and unwrapped her sandwich and stuck a straw on her strawberry Kool-Aid. I looked away from the small red carton and shuddered. Obviously, I wasn't a big fan of Kool-Aid, especially the strawberry flavored one. I wonder why Remy liked it.

"Homecoming." She answered simply and glanced up at me in what she thought was an innocent manner and what I knew as the 'you-should-be-ashamed-of-yourself' look. I licked my dry lips and sighed.

"Remy." I said, keeping my tone leveled, as if I was conversing with a child rather than with a friend. "I'm still not going."

The blonde girl grimaced, grabbing her Kool-Aid and taking forceful sips. "Why not?" She demanded, the juice leaving her tongue colored an unnaturally bright red; it was thoroughly distracting. "I already told you why." I reminded her calmly with a raised eyebrow and Remy sighed, defeated. I refuse to feel sorry for her and cave in, just like any other time. I'm not going to be a pushover on this one.

"Fine." Remy sighed again and bit into her sandwich. She chewed quietly, looking thoughtful. "I just hope the Council meeting later this afternoon would be peaceful." I furrowed my eyebrows and frowned, confused. "What do you mean?" I asked her, playfully twisting the straw that I held between two fingers. She rolled her eyes, annoyed—not at my question but at her answer.

"Duh." She snorted disdainfully, scowling even deeper, "Carson Phillips, of course. That no-good busybody" I winced at her careless insults, "always, always interferes with everything. Seriously, _everything_." I was about to tell her to try and be gentler on describing Carson, but then I heard said boy's voice cut through our conversation and we both froze.

"Still talking about me behind my back, I see."

Carson's statement rang out from behind me and I could almost make out the smirk present on his expression just from the tone of his voice. I turned, staring at him with my mouth slightly open in surprise.

"Carson." I acknowledged weakly, turning pale. What the hell was this?

His eyes were, in turn, fixed on Remy's indignantly red face. She looked like an overripe tomato with her roundish, flushed face. "Don't flatter yourself, Phillips." Remy snapped angrily, sounding vicious despite her small stature. She stood up, trying to look down on Carson; which was, of course, impossible, given that Carson Phillips was at least a good one foot taller than her.

"Also, since when did you stoop so low as to actually eavesdrop on someone else's conversation?" Her voice rose in pitch, making my ears sting. I bet Carson's ears stung too, because he grimaced and drew back, but his glare didn't waver.

"Please", he snorted, crossing his arms over his chest. "As if I would ever willingly listen to you and your big mouth." Remy gasped in offense at the insult and I shrunk even further down my seat. People were starting to glance at our direction now, their curiosity increasing. I bit back a pathetic whimper.

Why was I in the middle of this again? All I wanted was a peaceful lunch break. Why can't I have that?

"I came here to talk to Evans." Carson continued, sparing me a temporary look, and then snapping his narrow glare back at Remy. "But why am I even trying to explain this to you?" He murmured and rolled his eyes. He brought one of his hands down on my shoulder in a surprisingly gentle manner and I suppressed a shiver, the warmth of his palm sending tingles down my spine. His long fingers coiled down, reaching up to my collarbone.

"Come on, Raewyn." He said, giving me an encouraging pull. He stared at Remy the whole time as I stood, daring her to say otherwise.

Of course, he wasn't disappointed. Remy would grab every opportunity presented to her.

"What do you need her for?" My blonde friend snapped, grabbing my left wrist, and attempted to get me to sit back down. I was trapped between the two of them and I didn't enjoy a second of it. Dreadfully, I scanned the cafeteria and grimaced at what I discovered: Oh great, more audiences. Surprisingly, I found myself resisting Remy. Carson, unaware that I wasn't about to follow Remy's unspoken order anytime soon, grabbed my other hand. My eyes widened at the unexpected roughness of his hand, my pulse undoubtedly racing beneath my skin.

Stupid heartbeat.

Stupid pulse rate.

Swallowing hard, I turned to him tentatively, blushing a brighter pink when I saw the smirk he had. He looked so haughty, as if presented with a chance to say something clever. "It's none of your business, hobbit." Carson bit out, emphasizing each word with a hard edge, reaching out and pulling my other hand off Remy's grip. He looked down on me and grinned wickedly.

I closed my eyes, taking in a shaky breath. Remy was going to be so angry later on.

"C'mon, sweetheart, let's settle this."

My breath hitched in surprise. _Shit_.

I'm pretty sure I just melted into a puddle of useless goo at the pet name.

Sweetheart? Really?

Opening my eyes and doing the best that I can to ignore the gawking people—I'm sure they heard the pet name just as clearly as Remy and I did—I gave Remy a forced smile. "Calm down, Remy." I told her soothingly, surprised to find out that I could still speak coherently despite the fact that Carson was still gripping my wrist and just called me 'sweetheart'. Shit, I have to stop thinking about it.

"We're just going to fix our schedule. I'll be back, I promise." I reached out and gave her hand a quick squeeze, just then realizing that my hand was clammy as hell, damn it.

I turned to Carson and gave him a nod. Satisfied, he let go of my hand and walked out of the cafeteria. My wrist felt cold so suddenly but I paid it no attention. I followed him out with as much dignity as I have left and hoped that it would be over soon. The sooner, the better.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Reviews give me inspiration. Please tell me what you think about it! ^^


	3. Chapter 3

Friday afternoon rolled by faster than I anticipated and I found myself exiting the Chemistry laboratory along with a dozen or so other students. Carson and I agreed last Wednesday—just outside the cafeteria, right after his heated argument with Remy, if you don't remember—that we should hold the tutoring sessions during Fridays after school, since I'm unavailable during the weekends and it was the only day he was free.

I'm actually surprised that I'm calm about the fact that I'm about to go to the journalism classroom to tutor Carson one on one, with no one else; just the two of us…all alone. I think you get my point. I'll stop now.

I walked down the crowded hallways, pushing past the students and pointedly avoiding the sweaty jocks who hung around the lockers. While I squeezed my way through other students, I heard distinct shouts of happiness and a variation of T.G.I.F.s echoing all over.

Despite being sandwiched between people with impossibly strong-scented, overly sweet-smelling colognes and being shoved and elbowed and bumped on by sharp shoulders, I found myself grinning stupidly with the others.

Thank God it's Friday.

Better yet, thank God these students still know how say the words 'Thank you'. We teenagers are usually so dramatic and self-centered, choosing to wallow in our pool of self-hate instead of finding something that we could be grateful for—I'm not even going to try and exempt myself on this one.

Finally escaping the wrath of the main corridor, I jogged towards the journalism classroom with less effort, the hallway here visibly less jam-packed. The door was slightly open when I stopped in front of it and from the tiny gap, I could make out a blue figure sitting on the desk of a chair. Cue to jaw drop and raised eyebrows. Carson was unbelievably early. And here I thought I was always in time.

How long had he been waiting in there for me?

I was expecting to enter an empty classroom and sit there for at least fifteen minutes before the person I was supposed to teach came. That was how it usually was, no matter who I taught.

How come he always defied everything I've ever expected?

How did he manage to shock me and take me out of my comfort zone every single damn time? This wasn't even funny anymore.

I could feel my earlier courage melting away and turning into an impending nervous breakdown instead.

Taking in a deep breath and forcing down the annoying, nervous lump in my throat, I shook my head. "I can do this." I told myself in an encouraging whisper. "Calm down, Raewyn." Immediately, I felt stupid for talking to myself. What sane person does that?

Apparently, Carson also had the talent to reduce me to this paranoid, nonsense-making, crazy being I was now. Maybe this was why everyone hated Carson so much: he tended to disobey every rule and normal thing you have in your personal book.

No, I don't hate him. I don't think I ever will, honestly, even if I wanted to. I'm just…scared of him, I guess. Scared of what he does and what he'll do next.

Grabbing the cold doorknob, I entered the room with a tight smile. "Hey." I greeted, walking to the chair facing his and dropping my bag to the floor. "Didn't expect you to be here already." Carson looked up from where he was glaring at the tiles and gave me a flat look.

"Yeah, well, you sure took your time." He drawled out in a tone that I couldn't quite tell whether it was sarcastic or angry.

I settled for raising my eyebrows in defense. "Hey now, don't blame me if you're early. It's not like I'm late anyway. I came just in time."

A snort escaped Carson as I sat from across him, in the process of taking out my Algebra 2 book from my bag. I frowned. Obviously, this wasn't going the way I wanted it to go. Carson was irritated for some reason, which may or may not have something to do with me. I wonder what made him upset. Had I done or said anything wrong? A tired sigh cut me out of my thoughts and I looked up from the page I was currently browsing through to look at him.

"Everything alright?"

"Yeah." He answered in a way that made me think otherwise and smoothed back his hair. "Let's just…" He sighed again, pinching the bridge of his nose, and I couldn't help but notice that he looked a little more stressed out than that of usual. "Let's just get this shit over with."

I nodded reluctantly. "Of course."

* * *

Twenty minutes into the lesson and I could already tell that Carson wasn't paying the least bit attention. He was gazing off into the empty space to my side with his chin propped up on a closed fist, his bluish gray (or was it greenish blue? Grayish green? I don't know.) eyes glazed as if stuck in some deep thought.

The way he kept nodding his head every two minutes to support his fake listening didn't quite help either, since I stopped talking about five minutes ago. He was still nodding; I didn't know whether I should call him out on it or keep staring. A guilty part of me approved greatly of the 'keep on staring' plan. I mean, it was just hilarious to watch him nod to complete and utter silence.

On the other hand, I knew that wasn't right. He didn't deserve to be mocked like that, even when he kind of acted like a jerk to me earlier (that, and the fact that it was so amusing to watch). Maybe there was something genuinely wrong. Maybe something was bothering him. I wouldn't know.

_Though I desperately want to,_ a creepy voice added inside my head and I blinked rapidly.

Did I really want to know?

_Duh._

Okay, the snarky voice speaking inside my brain was beginning to scare me. Fine, I admit that maybe a teeny, tiny, itty-bitty, little part of me _did_ want to know. But seriously, what was I supposed to do about it? Better yet, was I even supposed to do anything at all?

Biting my lip to prevent an exasperated sigh from coming out, I glanced up at Carson and found him still transfixed on the seemingly interesting thin air. The creases in the middle of his forehead dug a little deeper, too. Then and there, I decided, that, yes, I would have to do something about it. Not because it was expected of me, but because I wanted to.

Help, I mean, not pry.

I cleared my throat gently, letting him realize that I was still there in front of him. Carson didn't react. He didn't even budge. Taking in a deep breath, I tried again, clearing my throat louder but Carson just kept on staring and looking dazed, as if he shut out the whole world and the only thing that was there was himself and his thoughts. Wow, talk about _deep_ contemplation. With no other options left, I tentatively reached out, keeping my eyes fixed on his troubled face the whole time.

"Carson."

My voice seemed to break the spell and he blinked rapidly, his frown disappearing. My hand froze in mid-motion and I held my breath. I wasn't expecting him to actually react (and react _so fast_) this time.

His eyes flickered to my stiff expression. "What?" He asked slowly, confused. The question brought back some sense of reality in me and I dropped the hand that was stuck in mid-air. "Um…" I trailed off uncomfortably, looking down at the open book and thinking of ways on how to start this undeniably awkward conversation.

"Are you…" I glanced up from beneath my eyelashes, my tone still uncertain, "okay?" Carson stared at me for a moment, silently trying to understand what the hell possessed me to ask him that question, and then shrugged.

"I'm fine."

"You're sure?"

"Yes." He said with a roll of his eyes. One side of his mouth quirked down in what looked like impatience. "Can we continue with the lesson? As far as I know, I signed up for a tutoring session, not a check-up with the psychiatrist." I clenched my teeth at his answer and nodded. See, brain? Trying to know things you're not supposed to know gets you into trouble. Now shut up and keep your annoying ideas to yourself.

"Okay. Let's just um…" I said and swallowed, glancing down to avoid his irritated glare. "Yeah, let's go back. Sorry."

We resumed the lesson and silence stretched on between the two of us again, despite my brief explanations. Carson fixed his stare at the book, nodding as I went through the solution of the problem given as an example.

"…And so you transpose this in order to create a value for the variable. Now that we know the value of _a_, we can proceed to—" I stopped in the middle of my explanation when I snuck a glance at him and realized that he wasn't paying attention. Again. "—to substituting the variable…" I trailed off lamely and took in a deep breath to calm myself down and to cool my temper.

Perhaps counting to ten would help. They've always said it was an effective anger management technique.

One…two…three…

"What's bothering you, Carson?"

Shit. Okay, maybe it wasn't as effective as people thought it was.

Carson looked up at me, broken away from his trance and looking so lost that he managed to make me lose at least half of my anger—along with it came half of my courage. He blinked twice and then frowned, not at me, but at himself for getting caught.

He shook his head. "Sorry. I spaced out for a minute. Let's go back to—"

"What's bothering you?" I asked again, dropping the pen I held on the textbook. I was surprised I even found the guts to repeat my question. This wasn't like me. "Is it me? Are my explanations hard to understand? Am I going too fast?"

Scratch that. This wasn't like me at all. Where did all my control and levelheadedness fly away to?

Even Carson looked shocked at my sudden tirade of questions. I wanted to take a moment and just be proud of speaking up but I couldn't stop once I started. "Is it my voice? Is it so boring-sounding that you feel the need to fall asleep on me?"

Finally, it seemed, Carson found an opening and immediately piped in defensively, "I was not falling asleep." I paused and frowned, allowing what he said register to my brain. Well, that was true. Shaking my head, I closed the thick Algebra book and met his eyes.

"Yes, but you weren't exactly paying attention either."

The blank look he gave me was all I needed to confirm that he was surrendering, unable to think of any excuses for that. Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the chair and sighed, one of my hands flying up to cover my face. I could feel a headache brewing at the back of my head and it _did not_ feel nice.

What had I done to get into this mess?

"Look", It was Carson who spoke up, "this has just been a really, really, _really_", he emphasized with a sigh and combed through his messy hair, "shitty day for me, so I'd really appreciate it if you cut me some slack." Through the gap between my fingers, I peeked at him timidly. I admit, it was kind of relieving to hear that it was this day's events that bothered him and not me or my voice. I didn't know how I'd have reacted if ever he did say that it was me that was the problem.

"I _am_ cutting you some slack."

Taking off my hand, I opened my eyes and met his narrowed stare without blinking. I didn't know what kept me talking but I was desperately hoping that whatever it was wouldn't go away so soon. "I can't say I'm not offended about you not paying attention but I understand that you're having trouble with…" I snapped my fingers twice, unable to explain. What was the right word for this? "…personal issues at the moment."

I bit my lip uncertainly and cleared my throat. "I understand." I told him again. "I really, really do. But you're going to have to tell me what's wrong so we could, you know, work this out." I gestured between us and looked up at him expectantly. I hope he didn't think I was crossing a line. I just wanted to help. "So, come on." I urged him, leaning forward and setting my elbows down on my knees.

"Tell me." The sooner we fix his problem, the sooner we can go back to business. This was some hard work.

Carson looked at me skeptically and glared, like he was trying to know if I was messing with him or not. "You really want to know?" He asked me doubtfully as he looked away. I let out a sigh of relief when his eyes left my face. He looked kind of scary when he was glaring.

"Yeah." I said with a nod and I watched as he slumped down on his chair in defeat. I dragged my seat an inch closer and waited for his answer.

I heard Carson sigh again and from the corner of his eye, he glanced at me. "Do you ever think about what you'll be…in the future, I mean?" His voice was quiet and if I didn't know better, I'd say he sounded ashamed of sharing.

"Of course…" I nodded cautiously and tried not to let my confusion show on my face. I didn't know what possessed him to ask that. Weren't we supposed to address his problem just now?

His tongue swiped across his lower lip in a hasty manner and Carson shifted slightly on his chair, fixing his position so he could look at me fully. "Well, I know exactly what I want to be."

"What's that?"

"I want to be the editor of the New Yorker and the youngest freelance journalist to be published in the New York Times, the Los Angeles Times, the Chicago Tribune, and the Boston Globe." I inhaled sharply at his answer with round eyes and opened my mouth to comment, but I found myself speechless. His answer sounded rehearsed, as if he said it a few more times in his life than actually intended.

"Um." Was all I could get out as Carson stared pointedly, waiting, and I was under pressure to clear the fog in my head. Wow. He had big dreams. Really, really specific and big dreams. Dreams that used to be just like mine. Dreams that stabbed a certain part of me that I was sure I got rid of during the past few years.

Swallowing hard and pushing away my distracting thoughts, I blinked up at him. "And that's a problem, because….?"

Carson scowled down on the ground. "Well, in order for that to happen, I have to get into Northwestern." I nodded supportively. "Okay. So you're having problems with sending the application form?" I tried to guess and watched his reaction closely. "Or is it the application form itself?"

He shook his head and pushed his back against the back of the chair, making him slide down a little on his seat. "I already sent it." He said glumly and frowned and to my greatest horror and embarrassment, I found myself entranced by the small pout his lips formed.

"The thing is, I don't know how to impress them in order for me to get in." Carson said and paused, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, "Actually, I _do_ know how to impress them. Ms. Sharpton—you know, the guidance counselor with the unhealthy obsession with pink?—gave me a few examples. I'm just not sure how to do it."

"O-Oh." I stuttered dumbly and forced my eyes to tear away from his mouth. I turned to the windows, busying myself with looking at the dancing leaves outside. "What were the examples anyway?"

"A collection of poems, a short story, perhaps a literary magazine, blah, blah, blah." The frown on his face dug even deeper as he continued, "I'm not a poet; sure as hell am not a novelist, too." Groaning out loud, Carson let his head fall back and I heard a dull thud as the back of his head collided with the top of the chair. His hands followed up next, covering his face. "The closest shot I have is the literary magazine and I don't have the slightest fucking clue on how to make one."

I sighed quietly, sympathizing with him. I knew how frustrating dreams and plans for the future could be. Clearing my throat to get his attention, I looked down on the book on my desk and began, "Literary magazines, huh?" I couldn't tell if he was paying attention or not because of his hands but I continued nonetheless.

"Isn't that some kind of compilation of literary submissions from different people? I think that's how you do it." I explained patiently and waited for his reply. What I got was a jumbled mess of words as a response because his hands blocked his mouth.

Frowning, I leaned in. "What? I didn't get that."

Carson lifted his head to glare at me and he repeated with irritation, "I said, fucking great." He slammed a hand down on the desk and I jumped at the sound. "Just. Fucking. Perfect!" Sarcasm was oozing out of his tone and dripping down on the tiled floor. I raised an eyebrow at his sudden anger.

"You don't look like you think it's perfect." I pointed out the obvious, trying to coax out an explanation out of him. Preferably one that was clean and decent and void of any profanities. He let out a sigh of exasperation before grudgingly clarifying his statement.

"If you haven't noticed, I'm not exactly the most favorite person of this damn high school. How the hell am I supposed to expect literary submissions from them, if I can't even get one fucking genuine smile from a person in this campus?" He snapped and ran a hand through his hair, something that I noticed he did a lot when he was frustrated.

I shrugged consolingly. "I'm sure it's not that bad."

Carson scoffed. "Right."

He shook his head and crossed his arms, his narrowed eyes challenging me. "Last week, after a meeting with council, somebody stuck a tampon on my back and nobody even had the decency to tell me. I had to walk around with it until lunch break when a janitor finally picked it off me."

Against my will, I could feel my mouth dropping open. I bit back a horrified 'Oh my god'. I mean, that must've been so humiliating. How did he gather up the courage to go to school everyday, if it meant torture like this? I was starting to rethink of my unnecessary detachment from Carson.

It wasn't fair that I try to avoid him, just because I was scared of what he unconsciously did. He wasn't doing anything wrong and he didn't need another distant spectator to watch his misery as he suffers in it.

"Oh, and also, three days ago, I went to replace the Writers' Club flyers. Again." He said through gritted teeth and I patiently allowed him to go on with his rant. "There was a message left there and I'm pretty sure it was addressed to me rather than to anyone else in the club: We, apparently, 'Such cock'." I winced at the way he said the words without much care, though I could see in his eyes that he was still riled up about it.

He pinned his glare at me again, daring me to argue. "Tell me, Raewyn." He drawled out with barely controlled rage, his fingers clenched tight around his arms. "Do you still think that 'it's not that bad'?"

Besides the obvious, cold anger, I saw a hint of hopelessness dancing across his gaze, a flash of something that closely resembled an urge to finally give up. He was staring at me and all I could do was look back at him helplessly.

"I'm sorry."

Shock flew into Carson's expression and his eyes hardened. "What? Why?" He asked me in disbelief, his shoulders tensing up. "Did you finally realize how pathetic I was? Did you realize just now how utter miserable my life is?"

"No!" I clarified immediately, rushing to put my hands up in placating manner. I looked at him weakly, my stupid mouth stumbling over my words. "I just—that's not what I meant, okay? I'm—I didn't know t-that, um…god!" I hissed under my breath, frustrated in the way I couldn't even form a meaningful sentence. Stupid, stupid mouth.

I took in a deep breath and let it out part by part, trying not to be bothered by the way Carson was still grimacing at me. I rubbed the back of my neck. "I guess I'm sorry that I…" I swallowed and concentrated on finishing my sentence, "…that I haven't been so, you know, understanding before. I had no idea that you already suffered so much from other people. You don't need more crap from me."

Carson's glare softened and he snorted ruefully. "So, you pity me?" His eyes held a hidden tint of sadness as he spoke.

"No." I shook my head, frowning. "I just don't think it's fair to anyone to be bullied." At my answer, Carson raised an eyebrow and fought down a smile. He seemed thoroughly amused.

"Bullied?" He repeated, not quite believing me.

He shook his head and relaxed back on his chair, making the tension in the air fade away.

"Oh, please." He said with a smirk, a chuckle tagging along the end of his sentence. "I'm too mean and sarcastic and evil for their ways to be considered bullying. It wouldn't be fair to them, really. Trust me when I say that I'm far from bullied, sweetheart."

There goes my heart beat again, running a hundred miles per hour. He should really stop calling me sweetheart.

One of these days, I swear I'd die of heart failure if he ever kept that up.

"Fine." I rolled my eyes and leaned away. "Forget I ever sympathized with you. And here I thought you were an innocent victim all along." I remarked dryly and earned a pleased grin from him. He seemed much better now that we were shifting off to a safer topic but then again, we never really reached a conclusion with our previous conversation.

Deciding I'll take my chances, I pressed my lips down and turned serious once more. "Seriously, though." I told Carson as I looked out of the window again. I didn't have the courage to face him like a normal person would while talking to someone. "I'm sorry, okay? You don't deserve that kind of treatment. Nobody does. I guess society tends to shun smart and talented people."

I glanced at him shyly, uncertain of what his reaction would be and swallowed hard. To my surprise, he had a small, curious frown on his face, no traces of his earlier anger and annoyance present. I thought for sure he'd be smug at my subtle praise all alone. Carson stared, amazed, as he scrutinized me like I was some kind of specimen he'd never seen before.

"Thanks…I guess." He said slowly in the same awkward tone he used back when we first met. I spared him the discomfort of the mushy stuff and smiled a small lopsided beam.

"Don't mention it."

Silence dawned between us, this time much more bearable than the ones before, and I realized with a start that time flew by quickly without us knowing. It was already dark out as I glanced out of the open window. The late evening breeze came in and traveled around the room and both of us shivered instinctively.

"It's late." Carson noticed and turned to me with an expectant frown. "Don't you usually go home early?"

"You…" I furrowed my eyebrows at him. "You know I go home early?"

"Well, I don't see you hanging around the school campus after class, so I'm guessing that you do…Don't you?"

"I do." I admitted.

"Then why aren't you home yet?"

"Like you said…I go home early, _usually_." I sighed and grabbed my Algebra book, stuffing it down my bag. First day of tutoring and we haven't accomplished a single lesson. I shook my head in hidden disappointment. "I don't think I'd consider today as one of my usual days."

I didn't notice how tired I was until I had to stifle a yawn from breaking out.

"Right." Carson said shortly, watching me fix my things. He grimaced. "Are your parents strict?"

"What?"

"I mean, are you going to get grounded for this? Not that I'd care. But, if ever you'd be, just know that I'm not going to act all noble and tell you to blame me. I don't care even if you make me feel guilty about it. You're on your own." Carson remarked defensively.

I had to grin at his poor attempt to show some concern. I could tell that he was struggling with this, the 'concern' thing. It was new to him and I'd bet my life savings that this was the first time he had ever talked to someone for so long, in an actual conversation wherein he wasn't insulting the person he was talking to. "Don't worry." I reassured him, though he muttered under his breath _'I'm not worried'_.

"I'm sure my dad would understand if I explain it to him properly."

"You mean if you lie?" Carson corrected flippantly, standing up the same time I did. I sent him a mock glare as we exited the classroom.

"No, I mean explain properly." I said again. "I don't lie."

"Sure. And I'm Harry Potter."

Despite rolling my eyes, I was grinning widely as the two of us walked to the student parking lot. Our cars were conveniently parked across each other. I trudged towards a grey Toyota Vios—the same car Dad used back when he was still working in the city—and Carson did the same, opening the door to his own car and getting in. I saw him throw his messenger bag to the passenger's seat and I chewed on my lower lip. "Hey, Carson!" I called out before my cowardly self could back out the last minute. He turned to the side and raised an eyebrow at me.

"Yeah?"

"I'll see you on Monday, yeah?" He looked perplexed for a minute so I decided to help him out. "I mean, you _do_ need help with asking for literary submissions, right?" I supplied and smiled. "I figured, if you had an extra pair of hands helping you—besides the Writers Club, of course—you'd get the job done sooner."

I could feel my courage decreasing by each passing second and it wasn't helping that Carson was still gaping at me without a word. I fidgeted on my place, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. "What do you say?" I prompted one last time.

Slowly, Carson released a crooked grin that I found surprisingly handsome. I could feel my brain short-circuiting and my common sense flying out of my head. "Sounds like a plan." He answered and grinned wider and I noticed dimples forming at the corners of his mouth. I blinked rapidly, unable to form coherent thoughts. Damn him for the things he does to me.

"Bye, Raewyn."

Nodding dumbly, I got in my car. "Bye, Carson."

His car was speeding away even before I got mine into ignition.

* * *

"You were out later than usual. That's a surprise."

Craning my head awkwardly so that I could look over my shoulder at my dad, I smiled at him in a sheepish manner. "Does that mean you're not mad?" I asked and turned the faucet off so that I could face him fully. He glanced up from where he was busy reading a thick book and took off his reading glasses.

"No, of course not, honey." He told me, smiling. "I just noticed, that's all."

My dad shrugged simply and wore his glasses once more, going back to his book. I nodded at him even though he couldn't see it. I was grateful for the understanding he had; I didn't even had to explain myself to him. Walking to where the hand towel was draped, I dried my hands and headed for the stairs.

"Night, dad." I called out and climbed up the steps. It was at my fifth step that he interrupted, stopping me halfway.

"Oh, and you also seem happier today." He said thoughtfully without looking up from what he was reading. "May I ask why?"

Quietly, I smiled to myself, recalling back the events of the day. I took in a deep breath and shook my head, proceeding up the stairs. "I think I just got myself a new friend." I answered him and went to my room, closing my bedroom door just in time to hear him say, 'That's great, Wyn'.

* * *

**Author's Note: **Hey guys! Thanks for the reviews and the favs! :D I was really happy that you guys like it. Here's chapter three. Enjoy!


	4. Chapter 4

Patience is a virtue, they've always said, and I knew that saying by heart, by mind, and I perfected it with years of practice. I was always extremely patient, if I may say so myself. I never got angry or upset quickly and that's got to count for something, considering that it's quite a challenging feat to keep up composure and levelheadedness when you're teaching Physics II to somebody who didn't even know what the formula of speed was.

It was the first day of the week, a Monday afternoon, and here I was, stuck in the library with John Hardy, a fellow senior of mine and a football player. I didn't know what his position was in football but since Justin Walker was the famous quarterback, I'm guessing he's _not_ the quarterback.

He acted as if _he was_ though, constantly flirting with everyone and anyone with a pair of breasts (Pray as I might, I was not an exception to this one), and walking down the main hallways like he owned the school.

…What was a quarterback, in the very first place?

I mean, I certainly wouldn't know, since I didn't speak football, but it sounds like a really important position in the game. Also, since when did being a football player give you the right to act like a total douchebag? I'm sorry, I know I'm ranting already and even though I tried to hold out for as long as I could, I felt my patience wearing thin by every second that I spend with John. He was just so, so…

"Hey, Evans? You're still with me, right?"

Right. Still tutoring. I took in a calming deep breath and nodded at him, looking back down on my lecture notes. I didn't realize that I was spacing out already.

_Focus, Raewyn, focus_, I told myself, forcing cheerfulness with my inner voice.

I'm sure John wasn't that bad. "Sorry." I said offhandedly, blinking away the dark spots that appeared in my vision.

Wow, how long was I staring without batting an eyelash?

"Where were we? Oh, right. So as I was saying, the um, the speed is directly proportional to the distance and inversely proportional with…"

Maybe I was just exaggerating. Maybe it was the exhaustion of this day that finally caught up with me. I mean, we did have a quiz on History today—that was surely energy-draining—and then another hands-on activity in Chemistry and a lecture during—

"Wait."

I paused in my explanation and spared him a short glance before turning my attention back to my notebook. "Something wrong?"

John held up a finger and squinted his eyes as if he was in deep thought. "I don't get it." He said, his tone full of frustration. I looked up fast and blinked at him, taken aback. It wasn't the first time he told me that but the way he said it surprised me; he sounded genuinely upset about not understanding the lesson for once. Well, I guess this was what most people called progress. Finally, we came to this point.

I smiled at him a little and forgot my earlier annoyance. "Which part don't you get?" I asked softly, making sure he saw that I was determined to teach him just as much as he was determined to learn.

John leaned in without warning and I shrunk back immediately. His face was just inches away and even when I'm pretty sure I looked totally horrified at our proximity, he didn't seem bothered by my reaction.

"What I don't get", he began in a whisper and oh my god, was that strong smell of mint coming from his mouth?

"is that why you're…" John trailed off and scooted even closer.

Oh god, oh god, oh god. Didn't personal space mean anything to anyone anymore? He was so close, I could practically feel the heat radiating off of him. Or maybe that was steam coming out of my face because if this wasn't mortifying, I don't know what is.

"…still not into me."

I blinked at him. Once. Twice…and another blink. "W-What?"

"You heard me, Evans." He sighed and leaned back on his chair, much to my relief. "I've been hitting on you ever since we first met, pulling out my best moves…are you not attracted to me at all?"

Remember what I said about him not being that bad and that perhaps, this was just me tired? Okay, no. This was not, in any way, exhaustion. This was pure, undeniable hatred. I took in a deep breath and let it out slowly to ease my growing temper.

I thought about closing my eyes and counting to ten but I didn't think it'd be a good way to calm myself down, for two reasons mainly: One, counting wasn't as effective as other people had said and two, who knows what this jock was going to do while I had my eyes closed? Seriously, I'd rather not risk it.

"Look, John…" I said with a tired sigh and brushed back my hair. "It's not that I'm not attracted—I mean, yeah, obviously I'm not interested but it's not you." I bit my lip. This was sounding more and more like a bad break-up scene from a cheesy soap opera. "I'm just really…not into, um…" I paused in midsentence and gave him a lingering once-over.

John was your typical blonde guy with blue eyes and he gave off the whole 'boy-next-door' feel. He was athletic, obviously, and good-looking and tall and buff. He made sure to remind me of that last thing by flexing his biceps. The thing is, instead of finding him hot or attractive or cute, I found him…really cliché. Like I said earlier, he was typical. Blonde, handsome, jock…I don't want some high school fling that I'd forget later on in my life.

Besides, it didn't help that he needed tutoring on certain simple subjects and that he probably didn't understand what 'proportional' means. I like a smart guy, that's one thing for sure. Call me a geek or a nerd but nothing is more attractive than a person who is logical and sensible. Think about it.

On second thought, I wasn't anyone special; I was just another one of his 'targets'. Why was he taking this so seriously? I shook my head and met his eyes. "Why do you care anyway, if I'm into you or not?" I asked.

John dropped his gaze to the ground and shrugged. He mumbled something under his breath that sounded an awful lot like: 'I want you to like me.'

This was awkward.

A moment of silence passed between the two of us and suddenly, his phone buzzed. I deflated with relief. Saved by the ring tone. He took one look at his phone and grinned widely. "It's 4:00. Looks like we're done for today." I wonder if he interrupted our lesson intentionally. "I guess I have to go." I said and stood up, closing my notebook and placing it inside my bag.

John stood with me and threw his backpack over his shoulders. We walked out of the library and just when we were supposed to go our separate ways, I remembered something from the back of my mind. "Hey, John, can I ask you a favor?"

He faced me and smiled in a charming way that made me nervous. _Please don't hit on me again._

"Anything." He said.

"Great. I was wondering if you could write something for the Writers Club's literary magazine?"

The grin he had fell apart. "Okay, sure." He answered slowly and nodded to the ground. "Can I ask why, though?"

"I'm helping Carson collect submissions." I explained shortly and added. "I kind of promised him I'd help him out. It would really mean a lot to me if you submitted one." John nodded again. He looked torn between being offended that I paid Carson more attention and looking amused at my choice of guy. Jerk.

"Alright." He said again and winked at me as he walked away. I tried not to make a sour face. "I'll see you around."

I waved half-heartedly. "Bye."

* * *

I bumped into Carson just as I was going to knock on the door of the journalism classroom. "Hey." He called out from behind me and I whirled back, facing him with an apologetic wince.

"Hi." I greeted with a nervous cough. "I hope I'm not late."

"You're…not." He told me, eyebrows raised and eyes wide. He sounded genuinely surprised. I reluctantly glanced away from his face and noticed the big box he carried in his arms. I cleared my throat and reached for the door knob. "We should go in. That looks heavy." He shook his head and I paused in the process of pushing the door open to send him a puzzled look.

"You're here." He whispered, blinking.

"…Yeah." I agreed, feeling a little confused. "I thought we had that established."

"You're here." Carson repeated in a blunt tone, his eyebrows knitting together as if me being there at that very moment was that hard to comprehend, as if I was some kind of illusion that would disappear any minute now right before him. I frowned self-consciously and gave him a tentative glance. Did I just imagine the conversation we had at the student parking lot last Friday?

"Um, I promised I'd help you out, right?" I prompted timidly, looking at him from the corner of my eyes. Carson gaped like a stunned fish with his eyes wide and his mouth slightly open. I bit my lip to prevent a smile from coming out. He looked pleasantly taken aback and knowing Carson, there probably weren't many chances of catching him off guard since he was always utilizing his quick wit.

"Carson?"

"I thought you were kidding." Carson blurted out, shaking his head and losing the dazed look in his gaze. "I didn't think you'd actually _help_ me."

I frowned again. "But…Last Friday, I already told you that—"

He sighed and cut me off with a roll of his eyes. "I know what you said." He told me impatiently. "I was just…look, never mind, okay? Come on. Hurry up and open the door. My arms are falling off." Carson complained and the tension between us faded away. With a short chuckle, I pushed the door open and got in before Carson, holding it open for him.

"Oh. You have the wrong classroom."

Startled, I turned my head towards one of the tables inside and saw a girl sitting on a chair, organizing some scattered papers across the wooden table. She was a chubby blonde whose hair was kept in a clean ponytail and her shirt was peach. Glasses dangled on the bridge of her nose.

Before asking who she was, I stepped back to double check the sign on the door outside—I could swear that this was the journalism classroom—and bumped into Carson. You could only imagine how that turned out to be.

"Raewyn, what the hell?!" Carson shouted out in panic at the same time I yelped, flailing my arms about as I tried to regain my balance. The girl in peach stared at us in a mixture of shock and amusement. Thankfully, Carson braced a hand against the doorway and caught both of us just in time before we actually tumbled down.

Unfortunately, it resulted with me colliding against the box and I never thought that an edge of a box would hurt so much.

"What were you doing?" Carson demanded in annoyance as I rubbed my aching lower back.

I heard him huff. "Seriously."

"Sorry." I bit my lip to refrain from pouting like a child.

"Carson!" The glasses girl greeted in surprise as she stood up and approached us. Behind me, Carson grunted. "Hey, Mal. Malerie, meet Raewyn. She's my tutor. Raewyn, meet Malerie. She's my…my…well, she's the only willing member of the Writers Club. Let's leave it at that."

* * *

Malerie was an interesting girl. Unlike Carson, she was full of optimism and really eager, if not a little slow on picking up ideas. It's fine though; what she lacked in the brain department, she made up with her determination and crazy cheerfulness. "I'm so excited for Homecoming today." She told both of us after the short introduction we've had, a large smile lighting up her face. "Our float is going to be flawless."

Malerie gave off a victorious shout and punched the air with a fist. Carson grinned along with her and nodded. He must be in a good mood today. "Yeah, the crowd's going to love it." He agreed.

I sat back in the chair across Malerie's and smiled, content with watching the two of them interact. I've never seen Carson smile so much, let alone look so happy. I settled my face down on my arms and eyed the box of submissions Carson set down on the table.

The box looked so heavy and overflowing, the lid was practically just perched on top of the bulky papers and not sealing the box like it was supposed to. Carson took off the lid with a grin and just like that, his happiness was gone in an instant.

"Oh no!" Malerie gasped, disappointed and disgusted at the smell that wafted into the air. "_Shit_erary magazine…" My hand flew to cover the lower half of my face, mostly from shock, partly from the stench. The submission box was nothing but a trash can.

From the corner of my eye, I glanced at Carson and felt my heart dropping at his expression. He looked absolutely dejected. Carson muttered incoherent things under his breath before slumping down to a chair next to Malerie. His head hit his folded arms and I heard him sigh.

"Carson…" I began sadly and shared a look with Malerie. She picked up from where I left. "Don't be too hard on yourself." She said. "If you can get Nicholas Forbes and Scott Thomas to join, I'm sure it won't take long before the others do too!"

My eyebrows shot up in surprise. He got Nicholas Forbes, the richest guy in school, and Scott Thomas, president of the drama club, to join? I didn't know that. I've always thought he was at war with the two. Well, he was at war with almost everyone in school so I assumed that he was with them too.

Pushing aside my thoughts, I smiled hesitantly and put on a cheerful tone. "See? It's not so bad. Those are pretty popular people you recruited. In no time, half the school would be writing—"

Carson groaned out loud and buried his face further down his arms. "I blackmailed them into joining." He said in defeat and looked up, looking as tired as hell. "Caught them playing Lewis and Clark in the boys' bathroom. Don't ask." He dropped his head again and I gaped at him with wide eyes the minute I got the double meaning, speechless. How exactly do you reply to something like that?

"Oh…" I finally said, shifting uncomfortably in my seat. Scott Thomas was always suspiciously effeminate, what with the glitters and sparkles and _pink_ things he added during their productions and all, but I never thought Nicholas Forbes would be gay.

Malerie, on the other hand, didn't seem as shell-shocked as I was. "You know, there seems to be a lot of those lately." She said and dropped her voice into a stage-whisper. "I caught Coach Colin and Claire Matthews bonking…each other…in the boys' locker room." I blushed, mortified at the information. I was sure that my brain was in the brink of exploding from all the unwanted mental images I got.

Carson bolted up from where he slouched.

"What?! I thought she was dating _Justin Walker_." He looked scandalized and I, on the other hand, felt bile rising up my throat. Coach Colin Walker was an alumna from Clover High; he was a fourth year student when we were freshmen and he was the quarterback back then. Now, he was working in the school as a football coach and his little brother was the head football player.

The idea of both brothers sharing one girlfriend was just…I can't even begin to explain. "It's true." Malerie continued happily, ignoring the looks of horror on both my and Carson's faces. "I even have it on video." She reached for the video camera placed by her side. "Here, I'll show you."

"NO!" Carson and I exploded at the same time, Carson reaching out to snatch away Malerie's video camcorder before she could open it and I, standing up and thinking about running out of the classroom. I sighed in relief when Carson placed the device far, far away out of Malerie's reach. I did not need that kind of trauma.

"Okay…" Carson huffed out after an awkward silence in the room and carried the submission box turned waste bin down to the floor. He gave it a grudging kick for good measure. "Since we're not organizing literary submissions anytime soon, how about we finish our props for tomorrow's Homecoming float instead?"

"Sounds great." I squeaked immediately and stood up, not allowing Malerie to protest about the video any longer. I refuse to watch a sex tape unintentionally made by amateurs. Actually, I refuse to watch a sex tape, period.

* * *

"You sure you don't need any help?"

I watched Carson and Malerie fix the last of their props on their float anxiously. I checked the time on my phone again. It read 5:15. I was already fifteen minutes late from going home but I didn't want to leave them here by themselves to get ready for Homecoming. Carson jumped down from the float and rolled his eyes at me. "I told you, we're fine. We're all set anyway, right Malerie?"

"Yeah!" Malerie cheered, jumping up and down like a little kid on top of the float. "This is gonna be so great! I can just feel it." Carson smiled up at her briefly before turning his back to me. "Hey, can you tie the strings for me?" I reached for the strings of his costume half-heartedly and began tying them into knots.

Malerie got down from the float to join our side. She stared at me for a moment before speaking up. "Raewyn, you're going to cheer for us, right?" She asked hesitantly, chewing on her lip. I looked up from where I was tying Carson's no. 2 pencil costume and managed a guilty smile.

"Sorry." I apologized in advance. "I can't stay for long. I have to go home and cook dinner." Carson tensed in front of me. He pulled away before I could react and turned to look at me in protest. "You can't _not_ attend Homecoming." He said. Malerie nodded beside him. "Carson's right. It's like an unwritten law or something."

Sadly, I shook my head at them and sighed. "Look, I can't. As much as I want to, I can't."

"Why not?" Malerie whined out and oh, wasn't this familiar?

"Because." I sighed again and repeated my answer. "I have to go home and cook dinner."

Carson looked downright stubborn as he crossed his arms. "Did you ask your parents for permission?" He asked.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, did you ask permission? Did you even _try_ asking for permission?" Carson shot and I fell silent. Guilty as charged. He smirked at me cleverly. "I thought so." He said, grinning triumphantly. "It's a one-time thing, Raewyn. Come on, please."

I raised an eyebrow at him and he rolled his eyes. Carson Phillips never said please. He must be desperate. "Do it for me. If not for me, then for Malerie?" Carson nudged the girl beside him and as if a button was turned on, Malerie gave me big, sad eyes and a watery pout.

I sighed in defeat. I wonder how they can make me do what they want when even Remy couldn't convince me. "Fine." I grumbled, scowling at Carson as I took out my phone. He looked as smug as hell as he basked in his victory. "I'll ask. But if my dad says no, then I'm not doing anything any further, okay?"

Carson and Malerie exchanged a high-five.

* * *

The bleachers were packed, crowded and tight, with people roaming around looking for vacant seats and elbows and shoulders bumping harshly against each other. I was suddenly reminded why I didn't try asking my Dad for permission in the first place: One, he was a big pushover; he says yes to almost anything, and two, I didn't even want to be here. It was too noisy and full of people and the air was stifling.

Sighing, I shook my head and gathered my scattered nerves. _I'm here because Carson and Malerie needed support_, I reminded myself and tried to ignore the annoying giggles coming out from the cheerleader that sat beside me. _I promised Carson._

Finally, the fireworks burst into the sky and the crowd fell into a chorus of silent 'oohs' and 'aahs'. I sagged in relief at the newly acquired peace and shifted into my seat to get into a more comfortable position. The band was the first thing that entered our line of sight and the cheering and clapping began.

The cheerleaders' float came around next, Claire Matthews sitting on a throne up on the float as the nominated Homecoming Queen. I remembered the thing Malerie told us yesterday and immediately blanched. She would always be beautiful and proud and _queenly_, but somehow, my perspective of her changed for good.

The other floats followed shortly right after: the football team, the drama club, the FBLA, the Yearbook club—Remy was dressed in a formal blouse and a pencil skirt as she waved enthusiastically at the crowd; next to Claire looking like a Queen, she just might fill out the position of the princess—the Celibacy Club, the Debate team and at the very end of the parade, the Writers' Club's float.

The cheering was reduced to a hushed silence as all the other floats passed by. I heard snickers gathering in the crowd as the last float rolled in front of them. I frowned, confused. Why were they laughing? I tried to look past the field and see what the commotion was all about but the cheerleader beside me kept on elbowing my stomach.

It wasn't until the float went by us that I realized what they were laughing at. There was no truck pulling on the float of the Writers' Club. Instead, Carson was pulling at it with his bare hands using a rope, Malerie waving at the crowd and jumping up and down on the float. I bit my lip in horror.

"Oh my god…" It was all I could get out hoarsely as I watched both of them be jeered and booed and mocked by my fellow audience.

"Go LOSERS!" Someone from the bottom right bleachers shouted—it sounded like a guy, maybe a football player—and the whole crowd roared with laughter. Soon, other people joined it, throwing out insults casually.

"Get outta here!"

"What a nice pair. They're both so pathetic."

"Oh ho, aren't you strong, Phillips? That girl must've weighed a ton!"

"A hundred tons, more like!"

From where I was frozen in my seat, I could see Carson's face going red with effort, rage and mostly humiliation. I clenched my fists tightly against the fabric of my pants and felt helplessness washing over me. There was nothing I could do to help this time. Not when the whole school, the faculty and even the parents were going along with it.

"Screw you!" Carson screamed angrily and pulled the float off the field and without wasting any more time, I stood up from my seat and ran to get to him.

* * *

"Carson! Carson!" I called out pathetically at the tense figure that seemed torn in between walking stiffly as to not appear so desperate and running like hell had been unleashed. I swallowed a few deep breaths as I tried to catch up with him; he walked really fast when he was angry. "Carson, please. Wait up!"

I caught up with him just before he could get inside his car and reached out to grab his shoulder. My fingers barely made contact with him when he whirled around and turned to me with a cold glare.

"What?!" He snapped harshly and I flinched, taking a cautious step back to give him a concerned look. His eyes were a stormy gray in color, burning with rage and red-rimmed. His chest was rapidly going up and down, sharp breaths escaping him. His expression scared me.

"I was just…" I mumbled nervously, swallowing hard, "I wanted to see how you were."

"How I am?" He repeated furiously and slammed the door of his car close, a loud bang resonated after it. I recoiled back from him. "I'm fucking angry! What do you think?" He bit out, throwing his hands up and kicking the side of his car. Carson closed his eyes tightly and I was reminded of a kid trying to shield away from his worst nightmare. He inhaled deeply.

"I thought I could convince them." He choked out in a whisper. "Now that I think about it, that thought was just plain stupid." There was an edge of hysteria to his tone that sent goose bumps down my arms. I've never seen him this upset before.

"Carson…" I tried again but he jerked away before I could reach him, and he got inside his car. I placed a hand on the closed door and looked at him through his half-open window. "Carson, please."

"It's getting late." Carson said hoarsely, sniffing and averting his red eyes from me. He eyed the road with undeniable contempt. "You should go home, Raewyn." He said my name in a soft, apologetic tone and I could feel my heart breaking even more at how vulnerable he was.

The events of Homecoming scarred him further than I thought. I clenched my teeth and refused to budge from my position. I wasn't going to end this night without at least talking to him and making him feel better. I wasn't about to let him go like this, angry and near breaking point.

"Carson, come on." I tapped on his window urgently. "Please. We have time."

"No, we don't." He answered quickly and pushed the gear stick into drive. "I'll see you tomorrow." He drove away before I could say anything further and left me by myself in the student parking lot.

* * *

**Author's Note:** Thank you for all the favs, follows and reviews! Your comments make my day complete 3! ^^


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